


Cafe au lait

by Powerpossessor



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, FrUK, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1891422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerpossessor/pseuds/Powerpossessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur meets a particularly enchanting customer whilst working, will this escalate to something more? Or will Arthur's bitter attitude towards love ruin the relationship? Rated M for the later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fucking Fantasic

"Fuck!" Arthur exclaimed as he accidently dropped the hot drink he was carrying on himself, the scalding liquid dripping slowly down his faded jeans. To put it briefly, today had been the worst of days. His boss was up his ass again about his "poor people skills", he had screwed up several drink orders already, and now he was dripping in hot coffee.

"Fucking fantastic." he thought bitterly.

He went to fetch a mop and began to clean up the mess he had created. The atmosphere around him was almost ironic. The excited chatter of the patrons complemented the faint scent of baked goods.

Despite the fact that the shop was fairly new, it had an old world feel to it. Located in a relatively busy section of the town, the quaint little restaurant was never empty. People from all walks of life were constantly flooding in and out of the heavy, cedar doors.

The temperamental blond sighed and completed the task at hand, placing the cleaning supplies back in the closet adjacent to the restroom. He returned to the register shortly after, trying to muster at least a polite smile. The man who walked in next brought a refreshing breeze through the restaurant.

Arthur didn't even lift his head when he heard several women begin to marvel at the customer. When he saw the man in question approach the register, he sighed and sat up a bit straighter.

"May I help you?" He asked in a dull and slightly annoyed tone. The man smirked, lifting Arthur's chin delicately with his thumb and forefinger. "Maybe you can…" He replied smoothly, causing the man before him to turn a bright shade of red.

"W-What are you doing?" The flustered brit asked, finally glancing up at the man's face. His silky blond locks just reached his shoulders, it perfectly framed his jawline, where just a faint hint of stubble grew. But what stood out was his eyes. Never before had Arthur seen eyes such a brilliant shade of violet.

The man just chuckled when he noticed the cashier before him staring intently at him. "Would it be too much to ask for a café au lait?" He asked, bringing Arthur back to reality. At the sound of the young man's voice, Arthur swallowed thickly, attempting to calm the erratic beating of his restless heart.

"A-Anything else?" He replied, still trying to regain his composure. "Your number would be nice…" The patron smiled.

"O-Of course not!" Arthur retorted, angry now. The man simply just shrugged and handed over his money, a hint of playful mirth still playing on his features. The fired up barista accepted the cash stiffly, trying to ignore the warmth of the other's hand. Pivoting on his heel, he made his way to the coffee machine, and began to make his drink. Once he handed it over, the man left. Just as he was about to exit however, he turned back to Arthur. "I'm Francis, Francis bonnefoy." He called back, leaving silently.

Arthur tried to maintain the scowl on his face, but he felt a smile tug at his lips as he looked at the money Francis gave him. "That twat…" He whispered, noticing that the frenchman in question wrote his number on the dollar bill. He pocketed his tip and carried on with his day, feeling the stresses of the day escape him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE (08/08/2014)
> 
> I've edited this chapter a bit and I will continue to do so for the next few days before I post the new chapter. So look forward to some much needed edits!


	2. An almost acidic shade of emerald

Francis walked out of the quaint little coffee shop and into the crisp winter air. He brought the cardboard cup containing his beverage to his lips, letting the hot and flavourful liquid warm up his body. Not that there wasn't already a pink blush dusted on his cheeks.

Despite the fact that the flamboyant Frenchman flirted with many men and women, never before had he been so interested and intrigued. The face of the man he'd just spoke to came to his mind as he waited at a pedestrian crossing.

The cashier's hair was slightly tousled, but not so far as to be described as messy. He'd been around Francis' height, maybe one or two centimeters shorter. His thin, lanky frame matched his bitter and fiery personality, along with his snarky, almost arrogant British accent.

His eyebrows were…thick to say in the least. But what stuck out to Francis was his eyes. Bright and venomous with an exuberant, almost acidic, shade of emerald. The long haired man was roused from his daydream when he received the indication that he could cross the street.

His pace quickened as he crossed the busy street, anxious to get out of the intense cold that surrounded him like a relentless pursuer. His shoes made a light crunching noise as they pounded the ice and salt covered sidewalk.

The frigid air tickled his nose, causing the shivering man to pull up his scarf farther on his face. Francis was more than relieved when he stepped into the elevator of his apartment building, shaking the snow off of his golden strands of hair elegantly.

When the doors silently slid open, he sighed contentedly and began to shed his layers of clothes. Francis' penthouse suite was extravagant, but not gaudy. The 26 year old chef was wealthy to say in the least, despite coming from humble beginnings.

His apartment definitely presented this, but didn't flaunt shrugged off his blue coat and hung it carefully on the coat rack. He did the same with his scarf, unfurling it from his neck. He made his way to the kitchen shortly after, about to throw away his cup when he noticed something written on the side.

Bringing it up to his face, he read was written, a mirthful smirk playing on his lips. "Arthur Kirkland…" He read out loud, satisfied that he finally got the name of the blond haired brit he'd met earlier in the coffee shop. As he placed the cup on the counter, he felt himself get overwhelmed with determination.

He reached for his apron, and tied his hair back into a messy ponytail. Francis knew this feeling. He felt inspired. The excited man stepped into his pantry, briefly taking in the array of colours and ingredients that lined its shelves. He began to grab colours that reminded him of Arthur, greens especially.

From soft pistachio green, to a deep, rich jade. He carried them back to the counter, laying them out in front of him. It was like a pallet of paint, anxiously awaiting to be draped across a blank canvas, breathing life and vibrancy into the white page.

He then opened his spice cabinet, the fragrant aroma of the herbs surrounding him as he inhaled deeply, sensing combinations just begging to be discovered. Just as he was about to get to work, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

Francis smiled and pulled down the small box of tea, feeling as if this was the perfect compliment. With a slight turn of the knob and a ferocious roar of the fire coming from the stove top, the motivated artist set to work.

* * *

 

Arthur sighed in relief, happy that his shift was finally over. He took the apron off of his head and hung it on the peg next to his usual work station. He gazed outside, noticing that the sun had set long ago, the city busy with night life. He began to lock up the shop afterwards, eager to get back to his flat.

He grabbed his jacket on the way out, a shiver running up his spine as he stepped outside. The slight warmth the sun had to offer was long gone now, replaced with the chilling darkness. The thick eye browed brit took a deep breath as he crossed the street, the lights of the city casting a slim shadow.

His breath created a cloud of water vapour, vanishing as quickly as it came. Arthur stepped into his flat across the street, hitting the light switch on the space adjacent to the door. Light penetrated the darkness, illuminating the young man's flat.

It was simple, a couple cheap furniture pieces and several posters hanging on the walls, most of them bands of rock music and heavy metal music. It was very neat and orderly spare a small desk in the corner beside the window had papers littered all over the top, several of them containing drafts of his stories.

He might have been only 23, but he wanted more than anything to be a writer. Arthur hung his jacket up in the coat closet, making sure that it wouldn't fall off the hanger. He then plopped down on the couch, taking the tip he'd received earlier out of his pocket and fumbling with it for a few minutes before flattening it on the coffee table.

The man's number from earlier was on the bottom.

What was his name again?

Arthur thought,

Started with an F…

He pondered once again.

Remembering the man's accent, he came to a realization.

Francis. That was his name.

He grinned proudly, able to remember the customer's name. The apprehensive brit looked at the number, torn as to what to do next. Should I..? He thought again. Before he could decide however, the receiver was already in his hand and the number was already dialed.

He heard nothing for the next few seconds, until he heard a click, an indication that the other had picked up the phone. Arthur jumped out of his seat when he heard this. No more than a second later, a slightly irritated voice with a strong French accent reached his ears. "Bonjour?"

* * *

 

Francis had been plating his green tea dessert when he heard the phone chime rhythmically. He hated when people called him in the middle of his cooking, but it could be someone important, so he decided to answer it.

He sighed as he made his way to the phone, trying to put on a cheerful façade but failed horribly. "Bonjour?" He spoke into the phone, putting in between his ear and his shoulder so he could go back to his work. "This is Francis right?" He heard a familiar voice ask awkwardly, adding in a nervous cough at the end.

"Oui, it is, might I ask who is calling?" Francis asked, curious about who'd called him at this time of night. "It's Arthur- Arthur Kirkland from the coffee shop." The man on the other end of the phone verified. As soon as the surprised Frenchman heard this, he quickly put down what he was doing and waked out of the kitchen.

"Ah! Arthur! Comment ca-va?"


	3. One month

Arthur sighed inwardly in relief, he was surprised at the other's tone and was afraid that he was being a bother. It wasn't becoming of a gentleman, after all, to be a hindrance to others. "I'm doing well, how about you?" He asked, striking up some small talk.

"I'm doing well! I was just in the middle of cooking actually." He heard Francis say as he strode into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. "Is that so?" Arthur responded, a sarcastic undertone present in his words even though it wasn't intentional.

He heard the Frenchman on the other side laugh deeply, "You sound very sceptical mon cheri." The brit heard the other say through the receiver. He laughed lightly as well, setting the kettle to boil while he leaned on the counter.

"I just didn't know you cooked. It suits you well, I'll admit that much." He explained, a light blush on his cheeks. "You know, cooking is not the only thing I can do with my hands..." He heard Francis say in a seductive and playful tone, making Arthur almost drop the box of tea packets he'd retrieved from the cupboard.

"And your arse is not the only place I can shove this phone, smarmy wanker." He shot back, mocking the accent of the man on the other side of the phone. "Down your gullet is another place that comes to mind." He added, confident in his threat, albeit half-hearted for some reason.

Francis chuckled on the other side once more, yet this time, it held a flirtatious twang, Arthur noticed. "Is that a promise? For if so, I'll be looking forward to it..." He finished. Arthur sighed, wondering just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

Francis smirked, he'd successfully made the short tempered man on the other end speechless. "Thinking over my offer?" He asked, practically feeling the other flush with embarrassment.

"Of course not! Who in their right mind-" he heard Arthur yell through the phone, profusely protesting the thought of the other doing such to him. "I thought maybe you would, considering you called me~"

The Frenchman interrupted, knowing he was in for a whole string of profanities and heated insults that were going to be launched toward him. Instead he heard a condescending scoff from the other end.

"I wouldn't even wish such a punishment on my worst enemy." He replied as Francis approached the large window in this apartment that overlooked the city below, gazing up into the dark blue sky, barely visible splashes of white light peeking from behind the unforgiving grey clouds.

"The stars are simply amazing tonight..." Francis stated absentmindedly, changing the subject abruptly. For about a minute or two, he heard nothing but silence on the other end. "I can't see them that well from my flat..." He heard Arthur finally say, his angry tone had faded and was replaced with a tenderness that made Francis' heartbeat intensify with longing.

"Their brightness rival yours in every single way, you know that?" The blond haired Casanova cooed. "I'm guessing I should take that as a compliment?" Arthur asked quizzically. Francis just chortled, remembering that from the others perspective, the stars he were referring to we're not even visible, much less bright.

"You may take it as you wish, whether a gentle compliment or a snappish insult." He teased, an exasperated sigh reached his ears shortly after. "Was this your game plan to get me to like you? Give me cheesy compliments and lewd comments?"

He heard the brit ask, although, Francis could tell it was more of a rhetorical question. "Perhaps it was." The violet eyed man responded. "Pff. As if it would work. You could never woo a man such as myself." Arthur scoffed once again, arrogance prominent in his voice.

"Do I hear a challenge in those words?" The Frenchman shot back slyly, his competitive nature coming out with a fighting edge. "That you may~" The other responded, seeing just how far Francis would truly go. "Shall we go at it rigorously like our countries of origin?"

He asked, hearing Arthur cackle maniacally on the other side, what an adorable dork he thought. "It'll be like the battle of the Plains of Abraham all over again you frog." He other huffed proudly. Francis laughed in return.

"Does the 'hundred years war' ring a bell to you or are you really that much of an old man?" He retorted, hearing the other choke. "I beg your pardon! I am not an old man! I doubt you're even younger than I am!" Arthur shouted, exasperated.

Francis snickered, which quickly erupted to a fit of uncontrollable giggles as he listened to the brit on the other end snap at him. "When you're done waking the dead with that screeching cacophony you call 'laughter' I would like to be informed of what exactly this challenge would entail."

Arthur sighed, waiting until he heard the Frenchman's laughter to subside. "One month." Francis said, leaving Arthur confused. "One month to do wha-" He began, but was cut off by the man on the other end.

"One month to make you fall in love with moi!" The blond haired man explained. "You're the fucking embodiment of the word cliché, you know that?" The green eyed man spat. "Oui, that I do." Francis responded. "Soooo, about that challenge?" The Frenchman asked, dragging out the last syllable.

"What happens when you lose? Oh heavens me! Where's my manners, I meant if you lose." He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "First, I will not bother you again, and second, I will streak naked down Main Street." Francis answered without missing a beat.

"And if I lose…?" Arthur responded hesitantly, dreading what could come next. "You become my boyfriend and I get to say I told you so." The violet eyed man proposed, taking the silence on the other end as Arthur deciding.

Francis leaned back into his couch, delicately twirling a lock of his golden hair around his slender finger. "You have yourself a deal. Only because I'm certain you are going to lose." Arthur finally responded.

Francis smirked, chuckling mischievously under his breath. "Well! I must depart. I shall see you in the morrows, au revoir!" He greeted, hanging up abruptly on the brit "Hopefully l'amour will be in my favour this time…" Francis murmured. "But of course it will!" He continued, confidently. The flamboyant chef returned to his culinary masterpiece shortly after, a sly grin present on his face. "Your heart's mine, Arthur Kirkland…"

Arthur stood there in confusion, hearing the shrill dial tone drone in his right ear. "That damned prat…" He mumbled, hanging up sharply and slamming the phone back into the holder. He retreated to his bedroom, dreading the events of tomorrow. However, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a bit excited…


	4. A bouquet for every hour I've missed you

Arthur woke up the following morning when a shrill noise screeching in his hear. Grumbling to himself, he threw the covers off in frustration and sat up slowly. The bed creaked slightly due to the shift of weight.

He waited a few seconds for his mind to rid itself from the fog of sleep before picking up his cellular phone from his bedside table. He squinted his eyes slightly, the bright light from the display all too harsh on his half lidded green eyes. He realized that it was a text that had woken him up.

"I swear to god, if it's Alfred again I will personally fly over the pond just to kick his arse" Arthur grimaced. Alfred was his annoying childhood friend who was hell bent on pissing him off every day of the year.

To his surprise, the text was from an unknown number. Curious, he opened his inbox, what was written was the last thing he'd expected.

**_555-347-2208_ **

**2013-02-20 6:42am**

_Bonjour mon petit lapin! J'ai pensé au sujet de toi la nuit dernière~_

Arthur's French was a little rusty, considering he'd learnt it only so he could get a language credit, but he deciphered it somehow. "Did he call me a 'little rabbit'?" He asked himself.

As he looked back at the phone, he let out an arrogant huff. "He better step it up if he wants to so much as shake my hand." He scoffed, setting down his phone. He entered his bathroom to tidy up before he had to head out for work.

He combed his scraggly blond hair, hissing as the teeth of said object tugged on the knots that had somehow found their way into his hair overnight. He then washed his face, feeling grimy since he never did shower last night. The cool water against his oily skin made him feel energized.

Once that was done, he toweled off his face, he retrieved his uniform from his room and slipped into it. After he looked presentable, he made his way to the small kitchen that his apartment held. Sure, he loved to cook, but he couldn't exactly get an extravagant kitchen with his tight budget.

He opened the cupboard above the shove to fetch his tea packets. Arthur filled the kettle with some water, turning on the heat after he did so. As he waited for his kettle to go off, he returned to his bedroom and picked up his cell. After a few minutes, he decided.

_Bonjour mon petit lapin! J'ai pensé au sujet de toi la nuit dernière~_

**2013-02-20 6:57am**

_Time's a ticking frog and if that's how you plan to win this bet, I doubt a whole year would be enough time for you._

Francis had gotten a head start on the day. Today was a Saturday, which meant he didn't have to go in until noon. He'd already known that a cute good morning text wouldn't so much as dent "King Arthur's impenetrable armour", as he had put it, but it was merely just the tip of the iceberg, for he has much more planned.

He strode into his living room, having spent the last few minutes eating his breakfast on the balcony overlooking the city. It was a bit nippy, but it was very sunny that morning so the harsh chill of winter didn't seem all that bad.

The faint trill of his cell phone's message tone reached his ears just as he made it to the kitchen, putting his dishes into the sink. He pulled it from his trouser pocket, reading the message on the screen.

The cunning Frenchman laughed when he saw this, taking the crude message as a challenge. His slim fingers punched in an all too familiar number and he placed the receiver to his ear. "Bonjour? Oui, it is Francis~" He chimed into the phone.

"I got a job for you Antonio." He explained slyly to his friend on the other line. "How quickly can you get 8 bouquets of roses to that quaint little coffee shop down the street?"

* * *

 

Arthur was stunned to say in the least.

He'd walked in expecting his lazy coworkers cackling to each other. But what he was met with was sly grins and several whooping cheers.

"W-What the fuck is going on here?" He growled, stomping angrily towards the only one of his friends that wasn't currently being a pain in the arse. "Kiku what-" He began, stopping when his brown eye'd comrade smiled kindheartedly.

"It seems that a secret admirer has sent you a present." He responded, a hint of his Japanese accent accentuating certain parts of his speech. "Looks like old man Arthur has finally got a flame!" The blond haired man heard Gilbert call from across the café. "About time too! Your pussy was collecting dust."

The albino continued, laughing at his own crass jokes. Arthur could feel his face get red, both from embarrassment and anger. "Lighten up Artie! I'd just melt if someone sent me these…" He heard Bella whine, coddling the roses in question.

The irritated brit yanked the flowers out of her hands, a bit rougher than expected, but he was one lewd comment away from entering a blind rage. He observed the bouquets, counting 8 in total. There was an array of colours that graced the delicate petals on each of the spiky stems.

This was certainly the work of an expert florist. Reluctantly, Arthur opened the card attached, sighing at the corny message. "A bouquet for every hour I've missed you…" He closed the card and discreetly slipped it into his pocket.

The thick eyebrowed man didn't exactly know why, but he felt that he needed to. "Where should I put the rest of these?" He heard the new trainee, Feliciano, ask him.

Arthur could tell that even though the younger boy tried to hide his excitement, afraid Arthur would penalize him, but he could see the interest behind his amber eyes. "J-Just put them in some water and set them in the back." Arthur coughed, trying to hide his blush.

It wouldn't be good if he just threw them away! The brown haired employee nodded, his ahoge bouncing up and down as he ran off with the roses. "I have to make a p-personal call." The green eyed man announced, leaving once Elizabeta, his boss, granted him the permission to excuse himself.

"Try not to spend too long on your booty call, we need help setting up!" He heard Mathias call out. "Aw shit man, that fuckass is getting more action than me!" Gilbert whined.

Arthur could have sworn he heard something along the lines of a hand colliding with his friend's thick skull, but it was probably a figment of his imagination.

As if on cue, the sound of "God save the queen" filled the air. Francis grinned at his custom ringtone choice for the other man. "Missing me already?" He answered, practically feeling the anger radiating through the phone.

As if the disgruntled sputtering weren't already a big enough clue, the string of profanities was a sure fire indication that he'd received his flowers.


	5. Hopefully it will suffice for the time being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE (08/19/2014): Edited the ending slightly, but it's still going in the same direction!

Francis felt a cheeky grin spread across his face as he listened to his fiery British acquaintance. "Why in God's name do you love to embarrass me?" The other demanded angrily.

"Please mon amour you merely embarrass yourself. I am simply giving my all to win a bet. I am a very competitive man, contrary to popular belief." He explained smoothly, looking out the living room window to see snow beginning to fall yet again.

"Oh, I apologize, obviously I overlooked the sorry disconnect that seems to be present in your brain. I believed our bet outlined the conditions under which you would try to make me fall in love with you!" Arthur spat back bitterly. The cunning Frenchman merely laughed, causing more anger to rise in Arthur's body.

"There must be a method to my madness, non?" Francis asked, setting the ball in the other's court. "If there is you have a very poor way of showing it…" He mumbled, the violet eyed man sensing that the Brit's rage was slowly reducing.

"That is by choice mon cheri. I shall tell you this, however, and hopefully it will suffice for the time being." Francis explained, taking the silence on the other end of the phone as Arthur waiting attentively.

"There is a thin line between love and hate. That is because both require passionate feelings for the other person. Love cannot flourish without passion, and neither can hate. If passion is present, feelings can go either way in a heartbeat."

Arthur was silent, the only noise Francis heard on the other line was the sound of cars whizzing by on the street. "Well! I must cut our conversation short I am afraid, I have much planned for today! Au revoir!" The excited Frenchman answered, hanging up the phone rather abruptly.

"Wait just a-!" Arthur shouted, growling when he realized that the other had hung up on him. He gazed upwards, eyes fixed on the sky above him. The sun wasn't high in the sky just yet, for it was only the early morning hours.

The fluffy clouds that cascaded across the ocean blue expanse were a glistening white, an indication that today would most likely be just slightly overcast. "Can go either way huh…" He whispered, thoughts on what Francis had said before.

He shoved his phone into his apron pocket, deciding that standing outside without his jacket for much longer would be more trouble than it's worth. He re-entered the coffee shop to find that his co-workers had calmed down significantly, wiping down the tables and cleaning the machines with nothing more than idle chit chat being exchanged. He smiled genuinely for the first time that morning, grabbing a dishrag and joining them.

* * *

 

Francis hummed excitedly as he scurried across the vast expanse of his kitchen, gathering all the ingredients he required to cook this dish. He'd remembered a conversation he'd had with one of his friends about acts of affection in Japanese culture.

His circle of friends was very diverse so he adored hearing things about their homeland and history, especially if it had to do with romance. One that stuck out to him was one that several school children took part in.

Apparently, a boxed lunch cooked by someone conveyed romantic intentions to the recipient of such lunch. Cooking was, and always had been, his strong point and the method he used to express himself. This was an opportune chance to get closer to Arthur.

He'd taken a few minutes before to ponder what kind of food Arthur would prefer. He was aware that he would probably love British food the most, however, he simply couldn't cook it!

Sure, he had the ability to do so, be that as it may, most British cuisine was a bit bland despite the array of ingredients that was used. After minutes and minutes of debate, he decided to just fuck it and cook some British dishes.

He decided to throw in some pub grub since he had this feeling that the other frequented pubs more often than he would like to admit. He'd decided on some lamb and apricot curry, a jacket potato, and some Yorkshire puddings. It wasn't much, but seeing as how hearty the dishes were, he decided it was okay.

It took him quite some time to collect all that he needed, just to realize that he was missing some ingredients. "Time to go shopping!" Francis thought happily, grabbing his wallet from the kitchen table. Once he shrugged his jacket on, he left his penthouse.

Once he made it to the street, he began to make his way to the local supermarket. The blond haired man felt the stares the women, and some of the men, in the vicinity were giving him. He was no stranger to this, since he was a very attractive man.

He'd been like such since he was a teen, to put it in a way that wasn't pompous, he was aesthetically appealing. His rich French accent and his caring nature just enhanced this fact. Francis flashed a glowing smile at a group of women around his age who were fawning over him.

The smile in question elicited an excited squeak from them and fueled a conversation filled with ecstatic chit chat. It took him no time to reach the supermarket. He grabbed a basket at the front and winked playfully at the woman behind the register. She blushed and coughed, returning to her work.

Francis had made his way to one of the aisles, comparing brands of cumin based on their price and quality. He was about to leave the aisle in pursuit of another ingredient when he heard a familiar disgruntled muttering.

The violet eyed man turned around to see one of his close friends, Gilbert, angrily rifling through coffee bags. "Gil!" Francis sang happily, running over to his silver haired friend. "Hey Francis…." He greeted, although his voice lacked its usual arrogant and boisterous twang.

"Aw, mon ami you sound very deflated is everything alright?" Francis asked, concern evident in his voice. "Lizzy got pissed at me for fucking around and prank on Roderich." He explained, his posture worsening. "I'm definitely not getting any tonight…" He continued, piling coffee bags into his basket.

Francis laughed a bit, giving the albino a sympathetic look. "So you are trying to make it up with coffee…?" The Frenchman asked curiously. "She sent me out to buy some more supplies, but she knows we buy wholesale!" Gilbert griped. "She probably just did it so I'd get lost…" He explained, pouting in frustration.

Francis patted his friend's shoulder as a caring gesture. "You will be fine, just give it time." The violet eyed man explained, watching his friend nod in agreement. "Say, you're cooking again right?" Gilbert asked, pointing to his friend's basket.

"That I am! It is actually for a special little someone..." Francis chimed, seeing face of the other immediately melt into a smirk. "You charmed another lady Bonnefoy? You sure are at the top of your game." The German said slyly. Francis merely smiled. "It is actually un garcon." He corrected.

"Ooh, What you cooking for him?" Gilbert inquired. "Just a little something something." Francis cooed Gilbert a playful wink. This elicited a smirk from the albino man, lightening his mood a little.

"Well, I wish you all the luck Franny." Gilbert chuckled, giving his friend a rather hard slap on the back. Startled, Francis winced silently, but coughed out a laugh at the childish nickname. 

With that, the two men exchanged their goodbyes.


	6. Well, if I am to be candid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I know you are all angry with my lateness but here's the next chapter! I'll probably be trying to update more often, but school is starting soon. Anyways, enjoy!

The cold winter air seeping into the small café did little to ruin the warm and electric atmosphere present during this time of day.

That is, for the patrons at least.

However, for a rather quick-tempered Englishman, the feeling was certainly not mutual. The slight chill creeping up his spine only worsened his mood.

“Nevertheless, I have a job to do…” Arthur thought somewhat sullenly. After his conversation earlier with Francis, the narcissistic blond was the only thought that dominated his mind. To be honest, it annoyed him to no end.

He was pissed at Francis for resorting to such a cliché expression of affections. He was pissed at himself for feeling just a little flattered at the gesture. Overall, he was just _pissed._ His coworkers seemed to sense this, being all too eager to stay out of his way. Even Gilbert refrained from poking fun at the angry Englishman.

All things considered, the day continued relatively normally. It wasn’t till the third consecutive hour of livid huffs from Arthur that the problem hit its height. Feliciano had absentmindedly put Arthur in charge of baking the cranberry muffins, mumbling something about a cute German customer at the front counter.

Arthur perked up at the sound of this, the promise of baking already doing wonders to his sour mood. He gently pushed open the kitchen door, he took a quick step forward, avoiding the swinging door with practiced ease. The quiet sound of his sneakers squeaking across the tiled floor echoed through the tranquil kitchen. Once he reached the oven, he bent down slightly, his green apron rumpling at his waist.

“From the look of things, the muffins are almost done.” Arthur observed, straightening up. His gaze wandered out the kitchen door window, falling on a blushing blond customer speaking to a bouncing Feliciano. Arthur tried to hide his smile, but to no avail. People usually pinned him as a fellow who despised romance.

If he was to be completely honest, he adored romance. As an aspiring writer, he has written romance for the most unlikely of people, in the most unlikely of time periods. He loved to challenge the boundaries of what was considered a “classic romance”.

Be that as it may, no matter how well versed he was at _writing_ romance, he was very inexperienced at _being involved with_ romance. In his private school days, women would always fawn over him, his rugged exterior perfectly offset his eloquent and fluid English accent.

However, they would quickly change their mind upon seeing his true personality and social issues. After graduation, he realised that not only liked women, but men as well. However, trying to initiate and maintain relationships with men proved to be just as difficult. Considering his history, having someone actually interested in him after they’d seen his true nature was…foreign, and certainly not unwelcome.

The thought made his heart rate accelerate. Arthur could've actually admitted that to himself, had the unpleasant smell of burning food not brought him out of his contemplation.

Not thinking beyond _“get these muffins out of the oven you negligent asshat”_ , Arthur scrambled to open the oven, the smoke not deterring him in the least. Using his bare hands, something he would reprimand himself for later, he forcefully pulled the tray out. His sensitive hands protested the action, causing him to drop the tray in pain.

“Jesus Christ on a FUCKING MOTORBIKE THAT HURTS!” He exclaimed, wincing as he looked at the angry red burn that stretched across not only his palms, but the pads of his fingers as well.

As if the burning smell and his raucous shouting didn’t alert the other staff of his predicament, the blaring noise of the smoke alarm was a dead giveaway. At that moment, the kitchen door swung open with great force, revealing a number of his coworkers’ worried expressions.

“Are you okay Arthur?” Bella asked, her voice rising in panic.

“Shit Feli I thought I told you not to put Arthur on kitchen duty!” Gilbert scolded, immediately regretting his harsh tone upon seeing the brunette’s guilty expression.

“I’m sorry! I forgot!” Feliciano responded, cowering behind Elizabeta.

“Arthur?” Elizabeta called, her tone firm, but concerned.

The blond gentleman in question currently had his head down, painfully clenching his fists. Politely pushing through the crowd, Kiku approached his friend.

“Ah. I will take it from here if that’s alright.” The Japanese man softly explained. Everyone nodded in response, if anyone were to help Arthur, it would be Kiku. “Why don’t we have a little chat in the break room?” Kiku asked gently, placing a hand on Arthur’s back.

The other seemed to agree, letting him lead the way to the backroom. Once the door shut lightly, Elizabeta cleared her throat. “Right. Bella, Feliciano, return to the front counter. The patrons are becoming worried.” Elizabeta began, waving her hand in dismissal. The two workers in question did as they were told,

“You don’t mind cleaning up this mess, do you Gil?” She continued sweetly. With that, she turned around, not waiting for an answer.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, a tense silence was being drawn out between two best friends. The two sat across from each other, Kiku’s eyes on Arthur, and Arthur’s eyes on the oak table below. Kiku had dealt with Arthur many times, and he knew better than to start out rough and straightforward.

Arthur spoke when he spoke and he respected that, after all, that was something the two had in common.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait that long this time around.

“Thanks for the save Kiku.” Arthur responded, grateful that he didn’t have to be put on the spot. The brown eyed man offered a gentle smile in return. “It’s not a problem I assure you. I know you hate those type of situations.” Kiku replied.

The tension seemed to break down further when Arthur finally met Kiku’s gaze. Kiku felt his shoulders relax when he saw not anger or sadness in the Brit’s eyes, but rather embarrassment.

“Did you let your thoughts get the best of you?” Kiku questioned jokingly. Arthur heated up at the accusation, silently cursing his inability to supress his blush. “Well…if I am to be candid…” Arthur began, body squirming under Kiku’s attentive stare. Pausing, Arthur raised his eyebrow, as if looking for a sign to continue.

Kiku merely nodded, prompting the other to continue with his story.

* * *

 

On the other side of town, a garish Frenchman with a basket full of groceries seeks refuge in bus enclosure, sulking wistfully at his current position. “How was I supposed to know that the blizzard would begin now? The damn weatherman…” Francis thought, plopping down on the cold plastic bench in defeat.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello all! As you see, I'm now on ao3! For all those who are my previous readers, this is the first time I've been active for about a year. Long story short: school, emotional issues, stress. Anyways, I'm back! More to come.


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